


Cruising for a Bruising

by tardisjournal



Category: Torchwood
Genre: BDSM, Community: hc_bingo, Community: spanking_world, Cranky!Owen, Dom!Ianto, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is ending, literally, and Ianto's teammates are melting down around him. What's a loyal Torchwood operative (and part-time Dom) to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruising for a Bruising

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Compromising Position (Drabble Series)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/838221) by [tardisjournal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal). 



> Spoilers: S1.10--“Out of Time”; S1.11--“Combat”; S1.12--”Captain Jack Harkness”; S1.13--“End of Days”. Starts at the Beginning of “End of Days” and goes slightly AU from there. The opening dialogue is directly from the show.
> 
> Contains references to events in my drabble series [“Compromising Position”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/838221/chapters/1597155), though it's not necessary to have read that to understand this.

**JACK:** _The cracks in time trace back here to the Rift... The Rift is splintering because of you_.

 **OWEN:** _So are we going to sit around crying into our lattes, or are we going to do something about it?_

 **JACK:** _Bring those who’ve fallen through time back here, into the vaults._

 **OWEN:** _And do what with them?_

 **JACK:** _We'll deal with Phase One first, then I’ll tell you about Phase Two._

 **OWEN:** _You can't control time. You can’t send them back!_ (Shouting) _What are you gonna do?_

 **JACK:** (Shouting back) _We'll think of something!_ (Calmly) _Hey. This is not the end of the world. I'm certain of that.  
_

* * *

It really did seem like the end of the world, despite what Jack said. The Rift in Space-Time was splintering and people, aliens, and artifacts from the past and the future were popping up all over the world, causing confusion, chaos and death on a massive scale.

When the Beatles appeared on rooftop in contemporary London, it seemed like the impossible dreams of music fans all over the world had come true. (Even Ianto had to admit, watching the news footage of the Fab Four reprising their celebrated 1969 concert with the modern skyline in the background gave him a secret thrill, at least until the London branch of U.N.I.T. arrived and shoved the bewildered quartet unceremoniously into a van.) But most of the other appearances were not so benign. A disorientated and enraged Samurai solider appeared in a crowded Tokyo subway and slaughtered dozens before being shot. UFO's hovered over the Taj Mahal in India, causing massive traffic jams as everyone in the area tried to flee at once (save for the news reporters and UFO-chasers, who caused further bottle-necking by rushing _to_ the scene). A Revolutionary-era guillotine appeared in Pairs, splashed with blood and with the head of some unfortunate still in a basket at its base, causing tensions to flare between local Muslim and Christian communities, each of whom blamed the other for this act of “terrorism”, until it escalated into violence in the streets.

All over the world, people were panicking. People were _dying._

And Jack seemed to have no idea what to do about it. Oh, he said he did, but Ianto knew he was bullshitting them. There was no “Phase Two”, not yet, anyway. Ianto had every confidence, however, that Jack would improvise a brilliant solution when the time was right. It's what Jack did. It's what Jack always did. Ianto wasn't worried.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. Ianto _was_ worried—he just wasn't worried about Jack.

Owen, however, was another story. The medic's behavior had been increasingly erratic since Diane, the aviatrix from 1953, had flown in through the Rift a little over a month ago. He had invited her out to dinner and then had disappeared, taking days of unexplained absences from work. Calls to his mobile had gone straight to voice mail.

When Owen had finally bothered to show up to work again, he had alternated between fits of rage and being so depressed he just slumped at his desk and stared off into space. As Diane was nowhere in evidence and Owen refused to talk about her, it hadn't been hard to put two and two together. Diane was gone (whether into the arms of another man, on a slow boat to America, or if the Rift was involved somehow, Ianto didn't know, but he knew eventually he'd find out) and Owen was devastated. Ianto understood what it felt like to suddenly lose someone you cared about, and had tried to make allowances for Owen's behavior, especially after Owen tried to commit suicide-by-Weevil. Ianto thought he was doing a pretty good job at not allowing Owen to get to him, even after Jack and Tosh became trapped in the 1940's and he and Owen seemed to disagree on everything.

Well, that is, until he had got fed up and _shot_ Owen, which, admittedly, hadn't been his finest moment. It hadn't even prevented Owen from opening the Rift. It had been eminently satisfying, however.

But Owen seemed to have learned nothing from that. He had challenged Ianto every step of the way when Ianto had been only trying to carry out Jack's standing orders, and had a hole in his shoulder and a splintering Rift to show for it. And now, Owen was challenging _Jack_ himself. Repeatedly. Senselessly. He had no constructive solutions to offer--his only motivation seemed to be a desire to lash out.

Jack, for his part, was growing increasingly irate, which couldn't be helping him solve their problem any. With tensions running this high, Ianto knew it was only a matter of time before Jack lashed back. And nothing good was going to come of that, Ianto was certain. As scrappy as Owen was, he was no match for Jack in a fist fight. And he doubted it would stop there. Both men were armed, angry, and had a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. A gunfight in the Hub would not, could not, end well. Gwen and Tosh, also angry and afraid, might get involved on one side or another. Ianto had visions of a Hamlet-style ending for them all if things escalated much further.

If Jack chose not to fight the results would be almost as bad. He might pull rank instead and fire Owen for insubordination, then dose him with enough Retcon that Owen think that he was still in Medical School. As much as Owen probably deserved it, Ianto knew they'd all miss the cranky medic, even Jack, once he'd calmed down. Besides, Torchwood needed every single team member if they were going to get through this crisis. No, Ianto couldn't allow that to happen either.

“ _What are you gonna do?”_ Owen yelled and wagged his finger at Jack while Tosh and Gwen stood by, stunned by the implications of the events unfolding in the world outside. Ianto, his head down, looked no different to them, but inside he was considering the possibilities of disaster much closer to home, and how best to avert it.

He had no idea what Jack was going to do. But he knew what he, Ianto, was going to do. He was going to take care of Owen. In the best way he knew how.

* * *

The computer beeped, breaking his reverie. Tosh stepped over and bent to read the information scrolling across the screen aloud;  something about Cardiff A&E being sealed off and designated a Hot Zone, while Jack listened intently. Ianto saw his window of opportunity.

“Owen, a word?”

Owen whirled on him. “What?”

“Not here. Outside.” Ianto inclined his head to indicate the hallway. Owen looked mutinous, but followed Ianto to the door. At it, he glanced back at Jack and looked as if he was preparing a few parting remarks, but Ianto used his superior height and bulk to herd him through.

“The fuck do you want, Ianto?” Owen said.

“There's something you need to see. In there.” Ianto pointed at a nearby storeroom. It was small, little more than a utility closet, but it would have to do.

Owen couldn't have looked more skeptical.

“Please,” Ianto added. “It's important.”

Owen shook his head, but reached for the handle.

“Fine, but you better not be wasting my time, Ianto. In case you haven't noticed, we have a bit of an apocalypse on our hands.”

Ianto crowded in behind Owen and pulled the door shut, then pressed his back up against it and folded his arms. He watched as Owen took in the whole room in glance, saw nothing awry, and turned, slowly and deliberately, back to Ianto. His face was screwed up in cold fury, and his hands were clenching and clenching at his sides.

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” Owen said through clenched teeth, “But there's nothing in here but a bunch of old boxes and some cleaning supplies.”

“That's not entirely true. We're here.”

“Not for long we're not. I don't know what you're playing at, but count me out. Open the door.”

“No.”

“No?” Under other circumstances, the look of shocked fury on Owen's face would have been comical.  “Listen mate, if this is you getting back at me for putting sugar in your gas tank, your timing is as rubbish as your sense of humor. Now open the door.”

“No.”

“Have you lost your mind? Open the goddamn door. That's an order!”

Ianto smiled a cold, tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. “You don't give the orders in here. I do, _Owen.”_

Owen started to sputter an outraged reply, probably something to the effect that as Chief Medical Officer he outranked Ianto's Field Agent and General Support, even if Ianto was shagging the boss, and then paused. He took in Ianto's dominant stance—arms folded, legs spread—and the unmistakable note of command that had suddenly deepened Ianto's voice, and his eyes widened.

Though Owen had only encountered _this_ Ianto one other time, his body started to respond-- involuntarily, if the way his mouth was still twisted in a grimace was any indication. Nevertheless, his fists relaxed and he swallowed hard, peering up at Ianto.

“You're not serious,” Owen muttered.

“Do I look like I'm kidding? As you pointed out, this is no time for games. So let me put it succinctly. You, Owen, are cruising for a bruising, a firing, or a Retcon cocktail that will zap you back to your nappy-wearing days. Maybe all three. I am going to save Jack the trouble, and save you from yourself, by giving you what you so desperately need.”

Owen's mouth dropped open. It wasn't a good look on him, Ianto noted absently. With his pale, shiny skin and his slightly bulging eyes, Owen looked like some fish/human hybrid they'd fished out of the Bay and should have thrown back.

“And what might that be?” Owen challenged. Ianto had to hand it to Owen, he never went down without a fight. Ianto admired the spirit even as he realized it made his work here more difficult. He would have to take Owen down, and fast.

“A good, hard paddling, that's what. Right here, right now. Now, are you going to drop your trousers, or do I have to “help” you out of them?” Ianto laced the word “help” with menace, suggesting that there would be little left of Owen's trousers, and maybe Owen's backside, if he had to resort to this option.

Owen darted backward, throwing his hands protectively up in front of him, even though Ianto hadn't moved.

“No way. You're mad.”

“I'm not the one that's been raging like an out-of-control lunatic around here, am I?”

“Have you forgotten that you fucking _shot_ me two days ago? I'd have to be a lunatic to let you anywhere near me, much less with a weapon.”

“That was personal. You tackled me and kicked me where no man should ever be kicked. This isn't.”

“Bollocks it isn't!”

“Don't flatter yourself. I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing it for you.”

“Oh, so you know what I need better than I do, is that it?”

“In this case, yes.”

“Bugger off! You're not touching me.”

“Owen, Owen, Owen.” Ianto sighed. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't need this. Tell me that, deep down, you don't _want_ this. If you can, and make me believe you, I'll open this door right now.”

Defiant brown eyes met steely blue ones... and then glanced away. A flush spread over Owen's cheeks.

“That's what I thought. Now take off your trousers. Pants too, while you're at it.”

Owen gazed at the ground, his right hand trembling like it wanted nothing better than to to obey and reach for his zip. But part of him was still resistant.

“You have no right to play the Dom card.” Owen protested.“We have no agreement, no arrangement. You got to play with me for one night at a club. That's it.”

' _And you loved it,'_ Ianto thought, but didn't say.

“I have every right. I'm entrusted with keeping this place running at full efficiency, and that includes seeing to the needs of the staff. You need it, so I'm doing it. Don't make me tell you again. Take. Them. Off.”

This time, Owen obeyed.

* * *

But not with alacrity, Ianto noted. Something he'd have to correct if this was to be a regular occurrence. He somehow doubted it would be, however. These were desperate times that called for desperate measures. He and Owen were far too different, and too good at getting under each other's skin, to make Ianto want to spend his precious off-hours with Owen as well.

He watched as Owen dithered about, taking entirely too long to remove his trainers so that he could pull his dropped trousers over his feet, and rolled his eyes. He wondered briefly how Owen's Domme put up with him, then dismissed the thought. He needed these few precious seconds to work out what he was going to do next. He'd seized the moment, and charged in with no plan, which was most unlike him. But he had succeeded in taking control anyway. Now he needed to maintain it.

Owen's trousers and pants finally lay on the floor, and then Owen kicked them away like a petulant child, looking everywhere but at Ianto.

“Face the wall, Owen.”

Owen did, shuffling his feet in a way that was entirely unnecessary. But at least he was doing it.

Ianto gazed at Owen's bare, skinny flank and decided he'd never felt less aroused. But that was O.K.. This wasn't about sex anyway. Not for him. And not for Owen either, not really, though if Ianto did his job right there would be a sexual component to it. It was necessary that Owen be aroused by the time Ianto was through, so that he could get the complete physical release he needed. If he wasn't, this whole exercise would just be a gratuitous infliction of pain. In fact, to someone who _wasn't_ aroused by being taken charge of and deliberately being made to suffer, what Ianto was about do would be considered downright abusive.

Ianto knew that there were such people in the world--that in fact, probably most people in the world fit that description--but he wasn't one of them. Luckily for him, neither was Owen.

Ianto's challenge was to get Owen to where he was physically broken down enough he had no choice but to release all that emotion he was carrying inside him, as quickly as possible. Ianto considered his options. There was no time to warm him up, then slowly break him down like Owen's Domme had done that night in the club. Too, Ianto had no special equipment at his disposal, not even, he realized upon scanning the room, a proper implement to strike Owen with. The broom handle? Too long to wield properly, and too likely to splinter dangerously if he broke it in two. The two-by-four propped forgotten in the corner? Too heavy, and too vicious. Jack kept an impressive array of implements in a box under his bed, but that was too far away. Ianto doubted Owen would stay put while he ran for Jack's bunker, not that he'd ever make it what with the end of the world going on outside this door. He'd have to improvise.

Ianto moved to the side of the room and sat down on a crate.

“Over my knees. Now.” Ianto hoped the intimacy and humiliation of the position (compared to, say, being bent over the crate) would make up for what he lacked in resources.

Owen flinched as if struck, then glanced at Ianto over his shoulder as if to make sure he'd really heard what he thought he'd heard.

Ianto narrowed his eyes and drew his brows together in his best fearsome manner. Owen edged, crablike, over to his side.

“Is this really necess...”

“Now!”

Trembling, Owen knelt beside Ianto's legs, then pushed up and draped himself over Ianto's lap. It was incredibly awkward for both men, if truth be told. But at least Owen, whose head was hanging down on the other side of Ianto's legs, couldn't see it when Ianto raised his eyes skyward for strength.

Thankfully, he also missed the moue of concern that crossed Ianto's face when he took in the view below him. Owen's back was a mess of deep crimson gashes; healing, but still tender-looking. The bandages that wrapped around his shoulder, covering where Ianto had shot him, where a stark, white contrast. Too, in this position, Owen's spine protruded from his skinny frame, making him look rather fragile.

Ianto swallowed hard and steeled his resolve. This was no time to take pity on the man. They'd been coddling him far too long.

Ianto flexed his fingers and raised his arm. “Count them.”

“What?”

Ianto brought his hand sharply down against Owen's bare backside.

“Ow!”

“I said count them! Don't act like you don't know how this works.”

“One,” Owen grudgingly supplied, wriggling about as if trying to shake off the pain.

Ianto hit him again.

“Dammit! Two.”

“No, that's One.”

“What?”

“If you mess up the count, we start over.”

“But that's not f...”

Ianto hit him again, harder. Owen shuddered, then went still. Ianto waited.

“O-one.” Owen managed.

“Better.”

He hit him again.

* * *

Owen's new-found submission lasted until they'd got to Ten. His backside was going from a pert shade of pink to an angry red and he'd apparently decided he'd had enough.

“Ten! I get it, I was wrong. You can stop now.”

Ianto carried on like he hadn't heard. He knew Owen's safeword form the night in the club, and Owen knew he knew. He supposed if this had been a proper scene they should have gone over it again, but this wasn't a proper scene, was it?

“Eleven! I said you can stop now.”

Ianto didn't.

“Argh, Twelve! This is Jack's fault, not mine. You should be paddling him!”

Ianto paused. He probably shouldn't have, because Owen was stalling and he really shouldn't encourage that sort of thing, but frankly, his hand was starting to sting. He shook it out where Owen couldn’t see.

“Which only proves you don't get it at all, Owen. No, I think I'll keep going.”

He put everything he had into the next strike, which hit low, right across Owen's left sit-spot.

Apparently, he had something left, for Owen cried out in pain. Then he snapped.

“This isn't fair,” Owen raged. “Jack's cocking everything up, not me! He's got no plan! He's sitting around with his thumb up his arse while the world burns! He...”

“....Needs our support,” Ianto finished, adding another blow for emphasis. “And for us to give him the space to work out a solution. _You_ , on the other hand, need an outlet. So this is entirely fair.”  He hit Owen again. “What's the count?”

Owen, who had been kicking and wriggling again, stilled as the truth of what Ianto had said sank in. Ianto gave him the time to work it out, while inwardly, he rejoiced. Owen had just articulated what was bothering him instead of bottling it up. They were on their way. But they weren't quite there yet. Ianto waited.

“Fourteen, no fifteen?” Owen offered.

“Wrong.” Ianto hit Owen again on the same spot. “Try again.”

There was a long pause, during which Owen moaned something that might have been, “ _Oh, God_ ”. Then he sighed deeply, and went limp with resignation.

“One.”

* * *

Ianto took his time delivering nine more alternating blows, four on the one side and five on the other, making sure that there was no more fight left in Owen before he released him. Owen sucked in his breath hard on each one, and made a gargling noise that might or might not have been a sob when Ianto delivered the last four to the sensitive skin of the backs of his thighs, but he made no more protests. And he counted them correctly every time.

Ianto caressed the reddened skin of Owen's backside briefly with his fingertips, signaling that they were done.

“Up.”

Owen slid, bonelessly, off Ianto's lap and wound up in a heap on his knees at Ianto's feet, his head hanging down.

“Have you anything to say, Owen?”

Owen's throat worked. “I've been a right bastard. I'm sorry.”

“ _Now_ you get it. Anything else?”

“Thank you, Sir,” Owen murmured thickly. It was barely audible.

Good enough. Ianto nodded, then tugged his handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and tossed it on the floor in front of Owen. He didn't need to look to know that Owen was sporting a hard-on; he'd felt it pressing against his thigh.

“Finish yourself off. Use this. I don't want you making a mess in my storeroom.” He turned to the door, then paused with his hand on the handle.

“I don't need it back,” Ianto added, with a trace of a wry smile.

Ianto opened the door just wide enough slide out of it in case there was someone on the other side trying to look in, then closed it again. That Owen had just been spanked by the teaboy was humiliation enough for today. The others didn't need to know.

There was no one waiting outside. Ianto wiped his brow and tugged his suit jacket down, surreptitiously adjusting his trousers as he did so. Despite his intent to keep this strictly professional, he'd gotten nearly as turned on as Owen had when Owen had finally surrendered and accepted his fate. Holding that power--no, being _entrusted_ with that power--was a hell of a rush. Ianto had nearly forgotten how intense it was. He made a mental note to get Jack alone once this crisis was over and let him reap the rewards. Maybe he'd even corner him in the same storeroom—Jack would like that.

They all descended on him when he got back into the Boardroom.

“Ianto, where have you been?” Tosh asked.

“Do you know where Owen is?” Gwen inquired at the same time.

“We need Owen to get over to A&E, now!” Jack snapped. “Where the hell is he?”

“He's just collecting his kit. He'll be along momentarily,” Ianto replied.

“He damn well better be,” Jack said. “Tosh, I don't trust him today. You go with him.”

“He'll be even better with me alongside,” Tosh agreed, doing her best to put a positive spin on things. Ianto loved her for it.

He watched Tosh leave with a small smile on his face. Owen would indeed be “better” going forward, of that he was certain. If Tosh wanted to believe it was because of her, that was fine with him.

 

_\--fin_


End file.
